


here, now

by badava



Category: Green Gables Fables
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5490077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badava/pseuds/badava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and sometimes she wonders if there was a past life where something was keeping them from being together, but it’s hard to worry about any of that when she knows that they are now. // shameless reincarnation au</p>
            </blockquote>





	here, now

i. london, 1772

 

It’s deep into the winter but the heat of the candles meticulously placed throughout the room still make Anne warm. Her fingers are intertwined on her lap as she watches the sweeping of the dresses on the ballroom floor, the dancing of the those who are lucky enough to have someone to dance with. She’s completely overswept by the romance of it all, her heart swelling in excitement.

“It’s all rather daft, isn’t it?” Her father mumbles through a mouthful of meat pie, still cross she forced him to come after Diana invited her.

“I think it’s marvelous.” She replies, not drawing her focus from the elegant way the women twirl away from their partners.

“Then you’re as thoughtless as the rest of them.”

She chooses to ignore him, now getting caught up in the string quartet playing in the corner. She’s so distracted by the ways the bows move up and down that she doesn’t notice the young man standing at her side until he says, “Excuse me, miss.”

A little startled, she looks up to see a man about her age with his hands folded behind his back. He looks down at her expectantly, eyebrows raised in a smug way that makes her stomach turn-- whether or not it was in a good way, she’s not sure.

“Yes?”

He sticks out a hand. “Would you care to dance?”

Her eyes flick from the hand in front of her face to the man. He doesn’t waiver, almost as if he expected Anne to hesitate. She turns back to her father, too caught up in a fruit cake to even notice. Finally, she faces the man, still smiling, and, after a beat, takes his hand.

He leads her to the floor and confidently wraps a hand around her waist. They fall into an easy waltz, quickly matching the movements of those around them.

“I’m Anne Shirley.” She informs him, still unsure as to who this man is.

“Anne.” He repeats with another smug grin. “That’s a beautiful name.”

“And what may I call you?”

“Gilbert Blythe.”

“Blythe?”

“Yes.”

“As in--”

“The host of this party?” He looks around at what is apparently his home. “Yes. Well, my father is the host.”

She’s suddenly, for one of the very few times in her life, unable to think of anything to say. While they are not poor by any means, her father never lets her forget that marrying someone with a large fortune would help them-- more specifically, himself-- out immensely. Diana’s home was the most extravagant that she’s ever been to, and the Barry’s wealth is nothing compared to the one the man she’s dancing with has. Suddenly, she remembers that Diana had mentioned him before; something about him and a girl their age, Ruby Gillis. She narrows her eyes.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Blythe, I think I heard something about you and Ruby Gillis?” Gilbert looks down, shaking his head. “Ruby is a wonderful woman but, unfortunately, is bound to marry Herb Spencer.” He meets her gaze again. “If you don’t mind _me_ asking, Miss Shirley, where did you hear about my dear friend Ruby Gillis?”

Anne purses her lips. “Diana Barry might have told me about you when she invited me here.”

“The one engaged to Frederick Wright?”

She nods.

“Fred and I went to school together. I only ever hear great things about Diana.” The candlelight makes his eyes twinkle as they twirl to the beat of the music.

There’s a moment of silence where it’s just the two of them amongst the crowd, thoughtlessly moving together almost as if it’s second nature, despite the fact that neither of them are amazing dancers. Still, it’s simple enough for them both to follow along without struggling too much.

“Mr. Blythe,” She starts, and his grip tightens on her waist. “Why did you ask me to dance?”

He glances down, and she wonders, fondly, if that’s something that he often does when he’s nervous. “Because I thought you were beautiful.” He laughs a little. “Plus, I thought you might want to get away from your father.”

The warm feeling in the pit of her stomach suddenly turns boiling and the smile on her face drops quickly. “What about my father?”

He’s confused first, and then apologetic, shaking his head, but Anne is already too blinded by the backhanded comment to notice any remorse. “All I meant was--”

“What, that he’s distasteful? Or crude? Or poor?” She’s furious. As frustrated as her father sometimes makes her, he raised her and she could never let anyone insult him.

“No, Miss Shirley, I misspoke--”

She stops them both in their tracks, dropping her hands to her sides in fists. “No one talks about my father like that!” She looks him up and down before stomping on his foot with a huff and storming away. “You are positively dreadful, Mr. Blythe!”

Her father scolds her on the way home about how “unladylike” she acted, how a man with “such wealth” could have changed their lives and how it “doesn’t matter” what anyone says about him when it comes to such important matters. Still, she can’t even make herself feel bad, instead replaying the satisfying squeak he made when she dug her heel into his foot.

She doesn’t know what she ever saw in that man.

 

ii. new york city, 1899

 

He attempts to ignore the loud hollering as he reads the book on his lap. It’s getting late and he only has time to finish this chapter before he should go to sleep. Staying focused proves hard as Charlie topples over onto his bed while trying to wrestle his socks away from Moody.

“C’mon!” Gilbert laughs as he shoves Charlie away. He rolls off with his hands up in defense.

“They’re my lucky pair!” He insists and Moody snickers, waving them in the air as he darts away. “Hey, give ‘em-- I swear to God, I sell twice the papers when I have those on!”

“Is that why they smell so bad?” With that, Moody tosses them over and they land on Gilbert’s book. With a disgusted noise, he swats them away, and Charlie picks them up.

“There we go!” He flops back down onto his bed next to Gilbert’s, sliding the socks on his bare feet. He wiggles his toes in Gilbert’s face. “Already feelin’ luckier.”

“Get those away from me!” He pushes Charlie’s foot away from his face. “I’m tryin’ to focus here.”

“Oh, yeah, you bookie.” Charlie rolls his eyes as he relaxes into the mattress, resting his hands behind his head. “You won’t be able to focus much longer. Look who just came in.” He cocks his head towards the hall door and Gilbert looks up. Just the glance of red hair makes him perk up a little.

“Ooh…” Moody, Fred, and Charlie all chorus, and Gilbert rolls his eyes, throwing his pillow in a random direction.

“Only you could be into the boss’s daughter.” Fred teases as Gilbert’s eyes trail the girl as she stands outside her father’s office just in the hall. “You think she could ever be into you? She put double the money you’ll make in your lifetime into that dress.”

“Triple,” Gilbert corrects, smirking. “I’ll be right back.”

His book long forgotten, he silently gets to his feet before casually stepping out into the hall, acting as if he has something to do before “noticing” the redhead standing alone, seeming lost in thought.

“Carrots!” He exclaims, approaching her. She jumps a little before turning to him, a small smile forming on her face. Still, she rolls her eyes.

“I told you to call me Anne, Gilbert.” Her proper, rich-sounding accent is like bells compared to the harsh, New-Yorker ones he’s used to hearing.

“Alright, Anne, then.” He runs a hand over his hair-- why didn’t he check it before he approached her? “What would you be doin’ here so late?”

“I’m here with my--” Suddenly, they’re interrupted by the door behind her opening, and a tall young man stepping out. “Royal!” She exclaims, looking a little nervous. “Done so quickly. Um, Gilbert, this is--”

“Roy Gardner!” Gilbert raises his eyebrows, a little surprised. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Gilbert!” Roy seems equally surprised. “Yes, it has been a while.”

“Um, this is my fiance, Royal.” Her eyes narrow. “You two know each other?” Gilbert nods curtly.

“Are you still in the, uh, _newsie_ industry?” Roy inquires, and Gilbert sniggers.

“Well, yes, seeing as I’m here.” He gestures to their surroundings. “Still selling papers with daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Lower the prices yet?”

“Well, we should go.” Anne stops them before they can go any further, probably for the best. She wraps her fingers around Roy’s elbow, and Gilbert feels his stomach turn. “Goodbye, Gilbert, see you soon, I hope.”

“See ya, Carrots.” He looks back at Roy and nods his head. “Roy.”

“Gilbert.” Roy gives him a small glare before turning his nose away and following the pull of his fiance down the hall and outside. Gilbert stands there, in front of the office, until Anne shoots him one last glance over her shoulder, paired with an apologetic smile. He shakes his head and waves, and, stifling a grin, she faces forward and leaves.

He hangs his head and groans before defeatedly shuffling back to his bed. He flops down and ignores the dig of the corner of his book on his lower back.

“Strike out?” Charlie laughs.

“Shut your mouth.” Gilbert replies.

 

iii. soviet union, 1942

Anne had been working as a nurse for a month when one of her coworkers, Josie, suddenly disappeared.

“ _В прошлом месяце_.” Ruby, ever the gossip, whispered to her as they worked together to bathe a man in a coma. “Got married. Ran off to America.”

Her heart soars at the idea. Falling in love with someone so perfect for you that you leave everything you know behind is the most romantic thing she’s ever heard, and, even though her workload almost doubled since Josie left, she’s still happy for the coworker she never particularly liked.

One of her patients is a young boy whose papers say is an American soldier about her own age. He’s often asleep when she comes to change his bandages and leave him water and something to eat, but his plate is always empty when she comes back an hour later to check on him. While she cleans the stump of what used to be a healthy leg the explosion he was caught in the middle of, she wonders if he is sad about all the things he will lose out on back home.

“ _Я так извините за все вы потеряли.”_ She mumbles one day, running her fingers over what’s left of his right leg.

“Why would you be sorry?” He asks, and she drops her clipboard in surprise.

“Oh! I thought you were asleep!” She stammers, bending over to pick everything up.

“I was. Then I woke up.” He leans up on his elbows. “Why would you be sorry? It’s not your fault. Unless you set off the bomb.”

“No,no, of course not!”

“Then why would you be sorry?”

“I-I…” For whatever reason, she finds herself unable to think of anything to say. What are you supposed to say in this situation?

“It’s okay, I understand.” He waves her off as he struggles to get up. “Could you help me out here?” She stalls for a moment before nodding and hurrying to his side, helping him to sit up.

“I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You weren’t, just pulling on your leg. Gets a little boring, lying in this bed all day.”

She sits in the chair by his bedside, unsure of what to do. She has no real business staying here, but she feels rude just leaving.

“So… You come here often?” He offers a cheesy smile, and her eyebrows draw together in confusion. He laughs, shaking his head. “Sorry, that’s an American thing.”

“I do not get it. Obviously, I come here often, I work here.” She giggles, the concept puzzling to her. “Americans are crazy.”

“A little.” He shrugs. “Not all of us. Most of us.”

“Where in America are you from?” She makes her own attempt at starting conversation.

“Wisconsin.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Neither has half of America.” He jokes. “It’s just cold, and snowy.”

“Sounds like here sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” He agrees. He looks at her for a while, and she suddenly feels self-conscious. “You know, I was pretty surprised when I saw you weren’t Josie.”

“She fell in love and got married.” She explains. “Lives in America now.”

“Wow.” His eyes widen, and he nods in approval. “Good for her. Even if that seems a little crazy.”

“What? Leaving to live in America?”

“Yeah, a little.” He shrugs. “I mean, leaving everything she knows behind like that? She had friends here. I know, she told me all about them.”

“Didn’t you leave Wisconsin to come fight here?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He smirks, obviously caught.

“Well, I think it’s romantic.” She sighs dreamily at the thought. “I can’t imagine loving someone so much that you’d run off with them like that.”

“That’s true.”

There’s a beat of comfortable silence where it’s just them, smiling at each other fondly. She gnaws the inside of her cheek before speaking again.

“Before, I was just… wondering if you’d miss anything back home. Anything you wouldn’t be able to do now…” She trails off.

“...Without the leg?” He picks up where she left off, and she nods sheepishly. “They have fake ones, you know.”

“I know, but--”

“It’s not the same?” He guesses, and this time she doesn’t answer. “You know, that’s how I felt, when I first woke up and saw that I had half a leg. Then I thought about it, and realized I never really did like running.” He catches her gaze and gives her a smile. Slowly, she gives him one back.

“I suppose.”

“Y’know,” He leans toward her, and her heart races. “I think you’d really like Wisconsin.”

She blushes and thanks her lucky stars the cold doesn’t bother her.

The next day she comes into work with her hair and makeup done a little nicer and news that the funny little American soldier with one leg died last night.

 

iv. atlanta, 1967

He finds her sitting under the tree in her front yard when he bikes up, eyes closed, one hand running through the grass at her sides, the other resting on her bulging belly.

“Hey, wake up.” He kicks her bare foot, and her eyes open, glaring at him.

“I’m obviously not asleep.” She raises her hand from her stomach to thread through her hair. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“What about Daisy?”  
“As?”

“A name?”

“Don’t you think you should talk to the father about this?” He asks, and she makes a sound that sounds almost like a groan.

“Roy doesn’t want to talk about names, or anything having to do with the baby, for that matter.”

“Why not? She’s due any minute.”

“He still seems to think that, by not talking about her, she doesn’t exist.” She crosses her arms, something that proves rather difficult over her stomach. “I still think he blames me for jeopardizing his future or whatever.”

“I mean, it’s his baby, too.”

“Try telling him that.”

He pauses. “What about your parents?”

“My mom is on the verge of tears every time she looks at me, and my dad hasn’t talked to me in God knows how long. They still blame me for jeopardizing _my_ future, I guess.”

“It’s not like you’re the only nineteen-year-old to ever get pregnant.”

“Well, I don’t know, Gilbert!”

Her voice cracks at the end of her sentence and she seems kind of on the verge of tears. He kind of feels bad, for being unnecessarily difficult, so he lies down at her feet. “I like Daisy.”

“Or Rose. That’s a nice one.”

“Very pretty.”

“Lily?”

“What’s with all the flower names?” He leans up with a questioning look, and she shrugs. Her eyes are closed again.

“I just like flowers. They’re nice.”

“They are nice. All of those names are nice.”

“Okay, which one do you like best?”

He plucks a blade of grass from the ground and twists it between his fingers idly. The thought that Roy should be doing this, not him, crosses his mind, but he pushes it to the side. “I like Rose.”

He sees, out of the corner of his eye, her rub her stomach. “Me too.” He looks up. She’s smiling. “Baby Rose.”

Suddenly, without warning, she takes his hand. It’s small in his and a little cold and he fondly remembers the saying, _“Cold hands, warm hearts.”_

“Sometimes, I think it would have been easier if this baby was yours.” She says it so softly that he almost didn’t catch it. It makes his heart beat a little faster and his face flush, and he wants to kiss her a little, but she’s pregnant with another man’s baby so he settles for just squeezing her hand.

 

v. here, now

When he laughs she thinks of bandages and when he holds her she feels as if she’s dancing and when he holds her hand thinks of newspapers and when he kisses her it smells of flowers. And sometimes she wonders if there was a past life where something was keeping them from being together, but it’s hard to worry about any of that when she knows that they are now.

**Author's Note:**

> does it make sense that they had the same names they do now in their past lives?? probs not. but this is au people!!
> 
> the russian roughly says "fell in love" and "i'm sorry for all you've lost". i can't remember what i put exactly.
> 
> if ANYTHING is inaccurate in any way, let me know & i'll try to change it! thanks yall


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